


A Song, About Us.

by wonderwanda



Category: A League of Their Own (1992)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-20
Updated: 2018-12-20
Packaged: 2019-09-23 07:27:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17075972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wonderwanda/pseuds/wonderwanda
Summary: For once in her life Dottie feels like she has a choice, and God is giving her the freedom to make it.





	A Song, About Us.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Maidenjedi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maidenjedi/gifts).



> Hello~!
> 
> What a sad coincidence for Penny Marshall to die while I was writing this for you. My goodness. It was fun to dive back into one of my all time favorite movies, I’ve been wanting to write something for Jimmy/Dottie for ages. 
> 
> Happy yuletide!

The drive to the airport is long. Her daughter tries to lighten the mood by asking questions but Dottie doesn’t feel like saying anything. The flight is long. She nurses a stale cup of coffee and tries to finish her book. The bus ride is long. She doesn’t want to think about it—where she is, what she’s doing—she wonders if she should’ve stayed home and sent her well wishes by mail. Perhaps she should have had one of the children film her sharing her felicitations. 

_Showing up in person has to be the dumbest idea I’ve had in decades…_

He’s been gone a year, but Dottie knows there will be questions. More things that she doesn’t want to talk about. 

\+ 

It’s barely been a month and the house feels empty. After all of their children have left and gone home, finally, the leftovers in the fridge start to spoil. Dottie can’t even bring herself to mash a potato. All she can see is him waving his hand, refusing each meal plate after plate. She’d have done the same if it were her, been stubborn. Dottie stands beside him as he withers. 

They watch the last Cubs game of the season together in the living room. She’s not surprised he waits until the season is over. Though, she is shocked he doesn’t die of happiness right there when Cubs crush the Cardinals 8-1. 

“Look at that,” he shouts, “our boys still got it!”

It’s the last happy memory she has. 

+

They arrive home from the doctor’s office and the news is somber. 

“He said you could get a transplant.” 

“Come on, look at me. My body hurts, I can’t play anymore.”

“You couldn’t play to begin with.” 

“I struck you out on our honeymoon.” 

“On a technicality! That umpire was clearly impaired.” Dottie scrunches her face, smiling. “I’m surprised you weren’t too distracted by his penis hat.” 

She realizes she’ll miss his banter the most. The way they lean into each other like this. 

“What’ll I do without you?” 

“You’ll have to coach without the best strategist in the history of the game.” He then taps his mouth with his finger, pondering: “those hats really did look phallic.” 

+

When the children are grown, Dottie surprises him by accepting a position coaching softball at the local high school. He’s taken on the baseball team as a hobby in his retirement, and the challenge of his team being better than his wife’s excites him. He knows he has it in him to coach the boys to greatness, so Dottie suggests they have the teams play against each other. 

“For the love of the game.” She says. They both agree to play by baseball’s rules. Dottie wonders how Kit would handle softball pitching after this many years. She finds herself a bit rusty at first. After getting the hang of things, Dottie proves, once again, that she still rules her kingdom. 

The girls are amazed that their coach can outplay all of them.

The day of the first annual ‘Best of the Ballgame’ matchup, Dottie wins a week off from cooking after a near shutout. 5-1. 

She continues her streak for the next eleven years. Though both agree they don’t want to suffer another week of Jimmy’s questionable cuisine, so he decides to take her out after each loss instead. 

They toast a celebratory beer on year twelve when Jimmy finally pulls his team together to win. They decide that this is the omen they need to finally take some time off. 

Jimmy tells his team it’s because his wife can’t bear to lose again. 

Dottie takes her team out for pizza, and they high-five after very successfully throwing the game. 

+

Dottie feels bad, but she shouldn’t. After she buttons the last button on her blouse in the doctor’s office, she smooths a wrinkle out of the fabric over her bust. She wants to look like a decent woman, even though she doesn’t exactly feel like a decent woman. 

There’s been a lot of celebrating recently. The Peaches win the championship, and they keep the dial on the Cubs in the locker room. After the series, Jimmy and Dottie practically guzzle an entire fifth of Old Crow; one thing leading to another, leading to Dottie folding her jacket and walking out of the office into the brisk Autumn air. 

“I suppose it’ll be a pretty decent Christmas Present,” she thinks, “but this is really going to muck up next season.” 

As her belly grows into spring, she assures him if she goes into labor on game day that his commitment to the team is more important. 

When baby two comes along, they’ve been busy putting their heads together as to how to sign their eldest daughter up for little league. 

“Well,” the coach grumbles, “the team’s for boys. I’m sure you can appreciate that, Mr. Dugan.” 

The only thing keeping Dottie from punching the poor philistine is the swaddled infant in her arms. Their daughter is disappointed. 

“After all,” says the coach, “what business do girls have being on the field anyway?” 

With that, showing her pedigree, young Margaret picks up a nearby ball and breaks the coaches’ nose from a fair distance. Dottie pats her daughter’s shoulder with a free hand. 

Jimmy smiles, sheepishly: “I mean, clearly she knows how to throw.” 

After the medical bills have been settled, the coach agrees to put her on the roster for a trial basis. 

Naturally she wipes the floor with her teammates, and the coach is forced to concede his mistake.

Her sister signs up a few years later without objection.

\+ 

No one is surprised when the announcement is made. Mae pops her gum and declares Betty Spaghetti the winner of the team pool. Dottie’s face flushes deep crimson.

“You guys had a bet going?” 

“Why wouldn’t we?” Doris chuckles.

“I can’t believe you. That’s foul!” 

“Come on, y’all are perfect for each other.” Ellen Sue goes in for a hug. “Congratulations.” 

“Ok, ok, where is it.” Mae snaps her fingers. 

Evelyn hands Doris a dusty bottle of champagne to open. 

“I hope it’s still got some fizz in it.” 

“Hope it still has some fizz? How long have you been hiding it?”

“Never you mind.” Mae gathers a stack of cups, handing one out to each girl. After everyone is situated, Mae raises her drink. “To Dottie and Jimmy.” 

The sentiment is echoed heartily, with Doris chiming in soon after: 

“May she get off the field and let the rest of us look good for a change!” 

Everyone laughs. 

The day of their wedding is a rather small affair with all of the team as their courthouse witnesses. Dottie’s reached out to Kit though she’s nowhere to be seen. 

It’s the second solidly good choice she’s made in the last five years. No one can deny how great of a pair they make. Dottie wishes Kit were there so she could thank her for all of it.

\+ 

Jimmy asks her if she wants to play, and she agrees. Yesterday he asked her if she wanted to run through the lineup over dinner and she agreed. Then he asked if he could kiss her and she agreed. 

The show is for the rest of the girls, they decide. All of this courtesy. These platitudes. 

They all know there’s nowhere she’d rather be than on the field. 

Kit makes eye contact with her by accident, and everything collides. Bob’s dead, she can be with Jimmy, she doesn’t want Bob to be dead, but she wants to be with Jimmy—no, what she really wants is to win this game, she doesn’t even know what she’s doing anymore. It’s as though nothing makes sense and everything makes sense all at once. 

Kit slides into her, and the ball falls to the ground. 

\+ 

After Dottie decides to stay in Illinois, she wonders what to do with Bob’s Purple Heart. She doesn’t want it to bear witness to her indiscretions. For _him_ to bear witness to her indiscretions. 

She bawls her eyes out at the funeral. Closed casket, naturally. 

Up until that point, she’s done everything she assumes she’s supposed to do: be good, grow up, get married…

For once in her life Dottie feels like she has a choice, and God is giving her the freedom to make it. 

+

“Just give me the telegram.” Jimmy hisses. 

“This is official business—”

“Give me. The telegram.” He waits to open it before shoving the Western Union man out of the locker room. Everyone’s stomachs drop in unison, including Mae who has every available man in town catalogued alphabetically in her diary. 

Each step Jimmy takes is worse than the last. He could pop the air with a hairpin—everyone’s held breath a tangible density. 

He stops in front of Betty Spaghetti and Dottie Hinson who are gripping each other’s hands. Thinks about how this will look. What the rest of the girls will say. Letting out a fretted sigh, Jimmy opens his mouth:

“I’m sorry Dottie.” 

\+ 

Kit races up the stairs and into Dottie’s room without knocking. 

“I’ve been traded!” 

The rest of the conversation is muted, hitching Dottie’s breath. 

She specifically remembers asking Mr. Lowenstein to trade her. If for no other reason than to free up the seat next to Jimmy’s. The girls have been starting to whisper, filling the bus with a palpable awkwardness. Even Kit’s been staring. 

Dottie wants to give Kit the opportunity to be the one everyone’s tittering about. To be the one who has to contend with everyone’s snide assumptions, however unintentional. The focus has turned from the game to who’s doing what, (or whom) where. 

Mae and Shirley look up from their pulp novel to see if they can catch anything juicy, but all they see is Jimmy taking an elongated sip of Coca Cola. 

“Wonder if that’s the only thing he’s sippin’.” With this rib from Mae, Shirley lets out an audible chuckle. 

Dottie tenses her whole body. 

“Like they’d trade their star player!” Kit throws her glove in Dottie’s face. 

+

She hadn’t wanted to come in the first place, so when Mr. Lowenstein shows up in the locker room, she’s all too happy to tell him that she wants to leave. 

“Little bit of friction there,” he says, “between you and Kit.” 

She wants to pack her bags and drive home to the farm that minute. Home, home, home...

She doesn’t belong on the field, she belongs in her kitchen. Fretting over her husband. Collecting scrap metal, and tending to the chickens. Right? 

That’s what she’s supposed to want, right? 

“You can’t leave…” She can, but she doesn’t. 

“So trade me or whatever.” 

She dreams of the season being over. 

Of never having to think of this ever again. 

+

After putting on her best Katharine Hepburn slacks, Dottie hails a ride to the field—the only place where Jimmy would be if he weren’t at the bar. (She’s already phoned.) She sneaks out as Doris and Mae share choice words over their game of rummy. 

Before he started drinking, Jimmy often considered the pitching machines a cheat. The ball’s in the same spot each time. Now it makes him feel successful, though he refuses to admit it. 

“I haven’t got ball players, I’ve got girls!” His brow furrows. He’s got girls, and he’s got Dottie. 

She steps on the field. 

“What are you doing here?” He refuses to look at her, instead hitting another ball.

“Called the Suds Bucket and they said you’d already left.” 

“So?” He spits a glob of tobacco onto the ground before cracking another ball into left field. 

“So…?” 

“You didn’t answer my question.” Jimmy turns around and looks at her. Dottie jumps as the machine throws a ball and it hits the backstop. 

“I think we should work together.” This is not what he was hoping she’d say, but it’s close. 

“Together?” Another ball hits the net and falls to the ground. As Jimmy walks closer to her, she can smell the mix of tobacco and whiskey. 

“Listen, I didn’t want to ask in front of the girls because I didn’t want to hurt your feelings. I feel we could really do some good work together.” 

“That so?” Jimmy coughs into his fist. “Well, if we’re being honest: you probably are a better player than me.” 

Dottie’s surprised at his vulnerability, then remembers that he’s imbibed. There’s a quick pause as he looks at the ground, also surprised by his candor. 

“There’s no denying that I’m the better strategist.” He meets her gaze. “You want to be together. Alright.” 

“Work together. On the field.”

“Shame.” He spits out the last of his tobacco.

Dottie frowns, picks up a ball, and beans him in the chest. He clutches at his ribs with both hands as she walks off the field, refusing to give him a second look. 

He has to admit, her aim is devastatingly good. 

+

Marla dances in and out of the box, unsure of who to watch. 

The team is focused on them both, the breeze surrounding their hand motions. It’s the first time he’s paid attention to the game at all. To his team of talented players. (The names of which he can’t recall.) 

He decides he’s going to make an effort, and Dottie, rightfully, thinks he’s full of shit. 

He didn’t earn any respect from her by walking into the locker room and peeing for eternity, and he certainly didn’t earn any more by sleeping through the first handful of games in the season. 

Everybody had pulled together in his absence, and Dottie’s not quite ready to trust that he means business. 

“Who’s the goddamn manager here?” The girls hold their tongues, each wanting to confirm Dottie’s place on the team’s totem pole. “I am!” 

“Well then act like it you big lush!” 

After the game ends, she debates letting him have it. Ever the pragmatist, Dottie settles on giving him another game or two to see if he’s serious. 

He is. 

+

Kit tackles an indifferent Dottie to the ground at Harvey Field. 

“I’m a Peach! I made it!” 

Dottie would’ve been just as happy to stay home, but watching Kit’s face light up makes the whole trip worth it. 

They sit together, Dottie somewhat boggled by the coincidence of being on the same team. 

She tries to hide her nonchalance, and is successful for the most part — that is, until the uniforms are shown. Dottie’s eyes widen when she realizes that fans will have the opportunity to stare at her crotch. She thinks through how much she can loosen her chest protector before it becomes too unsafe to play in. At that point it hits her: Maybe this will be kind of fun? 

Charlie Collins introduces himself as the coach for the Racine Belles. 

Dottie wonders who’ll coach their team. 

+

Kit begs her to go like a child who wants to spend their entire allowance on candy but Dottie remains unconvinced. 

“I’m married, I’m happy. It’s what I want. Let’s not confuse things.” 

That night, Dottie stares at her ceiling unable to sleep. She knows Kit will never forgive her if she doesn’t agree to go but she wonders if that’s the only reason why she’s considering it. She and Bob have been discussing things since before he’d been drafted. She wonders if she’d have continued just calling him her boyfriend if he hadn’t. If things would have just stayed the same. 

They barely even had time to consummate their marriage before he was on the plane. She was rather unimpressed. Still is. 

Perhaps a train to Chicago will get her out of her own head? 

The next day, she wakes Kit early and tells her to pack. 

\+ 

Dottie steps off the bus in Cooperstown and takes a big breath of air. She’ll never be over the smell of fresh cut grass. She hears the bat crack, and it feels good. Like home. She steps on the field, taking it all in. Her life, her love, her happiest memories, her second family. 

“It’s Dottie!” 

When she returns home, soul nourished, questions answered, she climbs up into the attic. Dottie tells herself that she’ll get around to dusting eventually, and finds the boxes she’s looking for with little effort. 

After returning back to the main floor, she makes some space on the mantle. 

For the Purple Heart, the baseball glove, and the gratitude she feels for having done something. 

Something special.


End file.
